


lawfully married wife

by NickyFox13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Marriage Law Challenge, Not Epilogue Compliant, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:10:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23005540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickyFox13/pseuds/NickyFox13
Summary: Hermione Granger, alongside all of Wizardkind in Great Britain and Northern Island, must participate in the marriage law. According to the Ministry, this is the best way to repopulate and rekindle history. Hermione gets swept up in the whole thing anyway.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Blaise Zabini
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at fanfiction.net and I will continue to crosspost to both sites. Thoughtful and constructive feedback/criticism welcome and encouraged. Though not formally betaed, the wonderful keshia_515 looked it over. Currently a work in progress.

Hermione Granger did precisely three things right after the war ended, in no particular order: cry that it was all finally done and over with, hug her friends with a fierceness that said she would never let them go, and wonder if her parents would hate her when they found out what she did to protect them.

Ruminating about her life over piping hot tea in the newly renovated living room with Molly and Arthur at the Burrow was a hard habit to break. It kept her sane to socialize, to drink tea, and update her spiritual family about the simple things. Keeping her mind active was a chore she enjoyed maintaining, but it often brought her anxiety as well. Hermione's thoughts often raced, and staying near her friends was one way to keep her mind quiet.

Harry and Ron were the two friends everyone expected her to have, and she gladly accepted the box people kept her in, regarding her friendship with them. Ginny became an outstanding confidante, and Luna, whose unconventional ways became endearing over time instead of obnoxious as Hermione had feared, had stepped up as a friend as well. Luna and Hermione kept regular correspondence with each other and it was a welcome distraction.

She was staying at the Burrow for the time being. The Weasleys were accepting of her, as if she was their daughter; the immediate and warm acceptance made life easier to bear.

Her thoughts kept drifting back to her parents, and how their lives were without her. She briefly wondered if it was selfish to assume they were miserable without her, but it was also equally frightening to think about the prospects of their happiness without her. The Weasleys kindness was a genuine blessing. Seasons changed, and so did the people around her. No one had truly returned to normal. Everyone questioned what the new normal was now that everything was turned upside down.

It was February of 1999, and here there were no answers.

Hermione needed to create her own answers. It wasn't fair, sure, but ambition didn't know fairness. Or limits, for that matter.

She had two choices: go to Australia, and find her parents to face the consequences of her actions or live her life without that closure.

How much deliberation did she need to decide, anyway? It shouldn't be this hard to figure out how to settle on the decision of traveling to Australia! It was an enormous decision and Hermione went into causing their amnesia alone. Having taken the risk of the magnitude of her loneliness without her beloved parents haunted Hermione. Knowing the repercussions of having caused her parents amnesia. The plunge into uncertainty was a heavy burden to carry. The intensity of loneliness couldn't be properly explained to her chosen family. It was for the sake of her parents, sure, but it still made her heart ache; what if there were unforeseen consequences were more dire than she initially anticipated?

She wanted badly to stay at Hogwarts for as long as she could. Hogwarts was the only place Hermione had truly felt at home, and that feeling had never changed in seven years; she was a quiet child, and found it difficult to relate to other people her age, as her voracious desire for knowledge intimidated everyone. As a result, she had few friends, and even fewer ways to connect emotionally. Teachers were delighted at her maturity, but in reality they were delighted that she didn't cause trouble. Hogwarts taught her the power of connection, and the power of solidarity.

She gave that sense of familial dedication up to save the world that saved her. However, as an only child, she had a duty to rectify that issue of what she felt was essentially abandonment. Her two closest, Harry and Ron, didn't appear in her life soon enough; despite complaints when dealing with someone they've known for so many years, she loved these two goofy guys with as much heart as she could muster and it was her duty to keep them in the loop.

Hermione had to do what was right, and she had to do it as quickly as possible. Now...how was she to tell Harry and Ron?

Harry and Ron were in the living room at the Burrow, relaxing on the battered but comfortable sofa. Hermione didn't want to disturb their relaxation, but this was important to her. The sun shone through the windows, half-obscured by maroon and gold linen curtains, making the room feel more cozy. Although the burgundy shag rug sitting at the center had seen better days, it really brought the rustic warmth of the room together; there was even a coffee table atop the shag rug with some art books from wizard artists. Harry had introduced the concept of Muggle style decorating from thrift stores to the Weasleys, and they were thrilled. Hermione

"Harry, Ron...I have something important to tell you." The solemn look of utter serene calm on Hermione's face didn't seem to register for Harry and Ron. They seemed in fairly good spirits, jovial even. It was unnerving how well they were listening. Was this revelation something they could handle?

"On with it, Hermione. We don't have all day," said Harry.

"Spit it out," Ron exclaimed, further attempting to get Hermione to express herself.

"I'm going to Australia to give my parents back their memories. If all goes right, I'm going to have them go back to England with me so we can live together again as a family."

"Say no more, Hermione!" Ron said in a nonchalant tone, waving his hand dismissively. His quick response into positivity made Hermione's heart sing.

"We understand. And we want to come with you!" Harry said.

"Yeah, absolutely. Anything for our best friend," Ron added.

"Really? Would you do that?" Hermione couldn't hide her mixed emotions: ecstacy and confusion both evident in the way she carried herself.

"Of course. You were alone making the decision in the first place," Harry explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You shouldn't have to be alone dealing with your family a second time. We're like family, after all," Ron said with a grin. She acquiesced a lot quicker than she expected to on the matter. Ron and Harry, in the strangest of ways, were her brothers and she loved them as such; it was a comfort to know they cared about her this deeply. How could she argue? It was too good to pass up.

Besides, the Trio were a family. Leaving them behind would be a blasphemous act Hermione couldn't go through with and have a clear conscious.

====

"So how do Muggle airports work, anyway?" Ron asked, as they all came together at The Burrow to touch base with each other to cement their plans for picking up Hermione's parents. Both Hermione and Harry laughed to themselves at Ron's cluelessness, even if it made sense. Hermione was well versed in traveling, and had significantly more experience than Harry who had only been on an airplane less than a dozen times.

Both Hermione and Harry took turns explaining how it worked as they took public transport to the airport. It was Harry's idea to take public transport. His reasoning was sound, according to Hermione, and that was the ultimate compliment. They would have more time to discuss Hermione's plan to pick up her parents, and all three of them were able to spend more time together, jointly fascinated by the way the scenery of England passing them by as the bus took its time to drop them off.

All three of them were content to spend time together, and once their stop appeared, Hermione noticed something strange happening to her wand. She walked off the side of the sidewalk, away from nosy, interfering Muggles.

"Do you two feel your wands burning?" Hermione asked in an anxious whisper. The second she asked, Harry and Ron checked their pockets in unison.

"Yeah. It is burning…" Ron said. All three of them stopped dead in the middle of the busy street, confused with the recent happening. Although they looked strange as is, standing slack-jawed in the middle of the busy sidewalk was more strange; they sobered up long enough to move out of the way to pay attention to their burning wands.

"Wonder why," Harry mused. All three of them turned their backs to the crowds of people, and a familiar voice started speaking from their wands: Kingsley Shacklebolt, the first democratically elected Minister for Magic in the wizarding world. Seeing his face was a calm reminder that even in chaos, one could remain collected under pressure.

"To all wizardkind in England, I must inform you of an important issue. The population of wizards has diminished significantly after the War ended. It is a tragedy and mourning our fallen comrades is necessary in this unpredictable post-War era. However, with the death of so many people, we lose much of our lengthy history, our time-honored traditions, our ability to explore a future to keep us afloat. Although we have historians furtively and intensely keeping our livelihood written down, it takes more than a handful of historians to remember our history. It is up to you all, all of wizardkind, to repopulate to keep future generations. I will send out a letter by owl with further information; expect this letter to appear in twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

His somber voice sounded as if he was sarcastically reading the announcement. It was a strange situation to hear about over a voice message, and Hermione wished she could've heard this in person. Maybe it would've been less shocking.

"Is this real?" Ron asked, too incredulous to realize he was in public.

"It has to be. I can't imagine getting an official notification from Kingsley Shacklebolt of all people and having it be fake," Harry reasoned, but he didn't seem too convinced himself.

Hermione balled her fists so intensely, her knuckles turned white. That was enough of a response that Ron and Harry realized logic and reason wouldn't be useful when talking to her right now: she, like Ron and Harry, were too emotional to truly talk about this in a useful way.

"Let's get to the airport. Wouldn't want to miss our flight," Harry said in an attempt to lighten the mood. They all moved with the fluidity of people who hadn't just had a bombshell dropped upon their shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

The twenty and a half hour plane ride to Australia was hell; the airplane was cramped, full of smelly, fidgety, and noisy passengers who lashed out at the mere thought of being held accountable for being obnoxious or loud. Ron, being the tallest and the gangliest of the trio, took up the most space and as such, claimed the aisle seat, while Harry claimed the window seat because he liked the scenery and Hermione didn't mind sitting in the middle as long as it meant she could read her books without being interrupted.

At this rate, knowing the information they did about this marriage law, it would be anxiety provoking trying to wait until getting back to England after finding out more information.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat in solemn silence for long stretches of time during the flight to ruminate on what had happened. There would be a lot to react to, and that was an understatement. Without much information to work off of, it was only natural for them to ask questions and make uneducated guesses about it all. What else were they supposed to do, anyway? Waiting in anxious silence was a terrible idea, unsuited to the hot-headed and highly emotional Trio.

"Who do you think you're going to have to marry?" Ron asked to no one in particular. His question lingered in the air, the silence not broken yet with reactions.

"Someone I get along with, who wants a big family," Harry explained wistfully, taking his time to enunciate his words. Ron nodded in agreement.

"What about you, Hermione?" Harry asked. It was a simple question but Hermione had the epiphany that she hadn't really thought too hard about marriage. She thought of having a career, a truly meaningful one at that, of making herself useful and happy, of creating a world where her purpose was to help.

"Honestly as long as we're compatible and doesn't get in my way, I think we'll get along," Hermione said, and it came off colder than she intended.

"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" Harry asked. Hermione supposed it was but she didn't particularly want to admit as such.

"I would certainly hope not. I want my future husband to respect that I have ambitions and my ambitions don't always circle around him," Hermione explained with more warmth in her voice.

"Well...at least that makes sense!" Harry chirped.

"I wonder how long it's going to take to get the letters," Ron said, clumsily changing the subject. Somehow, beyond comprehension, it worked.

"Most importantly...would there would be enough legal jargon to make our heads explode?" Harry asked. It was a silly way to pose the question, but it held value nonetheless. No one in the trio had legal expertise, and it seemed like no one in their immediate circle would understand either. Seemed unethical. That's how it convinced people to be mindlessly obedient, they all supposed.

"I predict it would be difficult to parse on our own. Do wizards even have lawyers?" Hermione asked. Even if they were in over their heads, they figured with enough determination and curiosity, they would make it through. Or, at the very least, make sense of this newly enacted law.

Until then, the main goal was to get to Australia and find Hermione's parents.

==

"I had sent them to this address," Hermione said with shaken confidence. Harry took out a pocket map to orient everyone, and they marched forward. Their silence was not awkward: in fact, it marked their solemn determination to find the Grangers.

After a half an hour of speed walking, the once clear blue sky became dark with clouds. Except…there weren't any clouds.

Ron was the first to look up.

"Are those...owls?" His question was summarily answered when a rain of letters drowned Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Each letter had their names written on, and weighed the same amount, no doubt because it contained the same message.

_To the wizard or witch reading this letter,_

_You are receiving this letter because you are a wizard or witch between eighteen and forty-five. Our population has dwindled significantly, and as wizardkind mourns the loss of many lives, so we must remember to gallantly move forward. In order to preserve our history, we must repopulate via matching--_

Hermione crumpled up her version of the letter and threw it in the nearest trash can.

"Damn, what did your letter do to you?" Ron asked, incredulous. Her response was over the top, a little too angry for what the boys usually expected of her.

"I'm not going to subject myself to forceful copulation." Harry and Ron, the children they were at heart, laughed at Hermione's user of the word copulation. Typical of her to use big words when smaller ones could've done the trick.

"I'm serious!" Hermione added. "Don't you think it's too oppressive to think of history as simply more bodies?" Harry and Ron looked at each other meaningfully. Hermione sighed.

"How else would we preserve this kind of history?" Ron provided, his voice weak. Harry nodded vigorously.

"Books! Language, traditions, education. I mean, look who you're talking to." They laughed for a moment, their joy a brief respite to the serious tone of the conversation.

"Plus it sounds like eugenics. Why do we have to breed for specific traits? It's creepy." Harry and Ron, clutching their letters, fell silent to Hermione's rant, enraptured by her points. They had nothing to say because her points were valid and made sense, despite being born of what was essentially a rant.

"Hermione, I agree, and your points make sense. But...there's no breeding for specific traits? Nothing in the letter made reference to that, beyond having kids to repopulate," Harry explained in an attempt to calm down a seething Hermione.

"You're right. But my point still stands: being forced to marry is weird. Most importantly, what about my physical health during childbirth? You should care, Ron, you have a little sister."

Before she let Ron answer with the indignance of being put on the spot, Hermione uncrumpled her letter, straightened out the page in the best way she could to make sure it was legible and kept reading. It was pretty typical stuff, a law she expected to have come to fruition after what she had read prior to the angry outburst.

Upon further reading, Hermione noticed some fine print: requesting a spouse. How it became a part of the fine print in the law, Hermione would never know nor understand. Few people knew about it, because of the Ministry's fear of it being abused. A person was able to write a written request if someone found an age-appropriate mate; after sending in that written request, you'd have to fill out an in-depth questionnaire to determine compatibility.

However, the seemingly endless paperwork was hellacious and thorough enough to make even the most studious, meticulously law-abiding citizen cringe. There was a twelve-page essay portion explaining one's history with the requested spouse. Other parts of the essay included in-depth explanation of compatibility, many compelling reasons why the Ministry shouldn't set you up with someone of their choosing, and at least two recommendations explaining why this was a good decision.

The Ministry approved less than three percent of the applications that were submitted, and that alone deterred people.

Hermione, ever the academic, wanted to defy all odds in the best way she knew how: writing. A new task arose. Hermione wanted to be part of the small percentage of people who succeeded.

A new fork in the road popped up without her truly comprehending it's numerous, long-lasting consequences. Although the law put Hermione's sense of autonomy in question, her parents were still out here in sunny desert of Australia, blissfully unaware of her existence. It was her own fault, and even though she had this epiphany many times prior, that profound loss still struck a chord. Hermione couldn't decide she would not live in a world that demanded marriage on a timeline she could not control.

Hermione flipped a coin: heads meant she chose her parents, and tails meant she would start writing a letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt about the marriage law she was forced to abide by. A fiery fury that couldn't be extinguished started burning within. She was not about to marry the man chosen for her, but she would not let her parents down.

Heads.

"Come on you two, let's get out of the middle of the sidewalk. We've got parents to save," Hermione exclaimed, a sudden steeliness in her voice appearing. Harry felt his stomach tie into knots. Her newfound commanding presence startled Harry, because this decision felt out of character even though it made sense. Ron followed without question, his devotion to being useful unparalleled, matched only by Harry's equal amounts of devotion.

==

Hermione stood on her parents' porch, painted a sunshine yellow and peeling from the eternally beating sun. The cobblestone pathway to the porch added a quaint charm. The meticulous lawn, and precise placement of color-coded flowers in alphabetical order from acacia to zinnia ensured that the people who lived here were truly Hermione's parents.

She took another step and knocked twice. The door opened to reveal a woman wearing a tank top, cargo pants, and hiking boots, whose honey brown hair was put in a girlish ponytail. Her wire-frame glasses sat on her pointed nose. Something like recognition and warmth flickered across her face. The emotions didn't last long, though.

"Hello there, miss. Are you lost?" She had asked, her tone curt yet curious.

"Not particularly. Are you Eve Clark? Is your husband Declan?" She asked, and Harry flinched at her unwavering bluntness. The woman, who Harry guessed was Eve, looked taken aback.

"I'm Hermione Granger and I have something incredibly important to tell you. May I come in?" Eve let her in. Harry and Ron were left to idle around their yard. Not wanting to be taken for trespassers, the boys took a walk around the block to sight-see.

"What do you think Hermione's saying to her parents right now?" Harry wondered aloud. Ron shrugged.

"I can't imagine it's all that fun," Ron said.

"Well, duh, it's hard. You can't deny that. It's probably boring stuff. 'I'm your daughter, and you got amnesia', or something," Harry predicted. The third time around the block blurred into a few dozen. Every ten minutes for the past forty minutes, Harry made sure to check on the yard to see if Hermione returned.

"But how is she going to explain the amnesia? It's not like there's a justifiable medical reason for this to happen," Ron said, after double-checking Hermione hadn't returned from her confrontation.

"Maybe she said they went into witness protection from a burglary?" Harry said.

"Too far-fetched. But it might work if Hermione plays her cards right," Ron responded. They had veered off course of walking around the block to include more blocks around this house, but made sure to stay relatively close in case something happened.

When Ron and Harry returned to the Clark house, Hermione sat on the porch. Her head was slumped into her hands.

"Let's go, Hermione," Harry said, and Ron gave his hand so he could lead her away.

"Is it okay that I don't really want to talk about how the confrontation went right now?" Hermione asked through sniffles. She was about to cry, and any prodding would bring on the waterworks.

"Of course," Harry said, keeping his voice soft.

"Now we have another two days until we get back to England. What should we do while we're here?" Ron asked, his itch for adventure awoken.

There was more to do in Australia than remember the wedge in Hermione's relationships with her parents.


	3. Chapter 3

The plane ride home was mostly spent reading through an endless amount of jargon filled pages. Words began to blur together, and soon enough, their heads began to spin.

"How are we supposed to decipher this on our own?" Harry exclaimed.

"Even I can't decipher it…" When even Hermione admitted defeat, something was wrong.

"Who can we talk to about understanding this?" Ron asked. He was determined to find fairness in the midst of this confusion.

"Wait you two," Harry said, "look at this!" He had pointed to the very bottom of the letter.

Requesting a spouse was part of the fine print in the law. Few people knew about it, Harry deduced, because of the Ministry's fear of it being abused. A person was able to write a written request if someone found an age-appropriate mate; after sending in that written request, you'd have to fill out an in-depth questionnaire to determine compatibility.  
However, the seemingly endless paperwork was hellacious and thorough enough to make even the most studious, meticulously law-abiding citizen cringe. There was a twelve-page essay portion explaining one's history with the requested spouse. Other parts of the essay included in-depth explanation of compatibility, many compelling reasons why the Ministry shouldn't set you up with someone of their choosing, and at least two recommendations explaining why this was a good decision.

The Ministry approved less than three percent of the applications that were submitted, and that alone deterred people.  
Hermione wanted to defy all odds. In that moment, she started writing with a fiery fury that couldn't be extinguished. She was not about to marry the man chosen for her. Hermione's sense of autonomy was in question, and it struck a chord; Harry and Ron felt some of that, too, she could tell.. She would not live in a world that demanded marriage on a timeline she could not control.

While Harry and Ron seemed to be resigned to their fates (the paperwork alone daunted them, and even though they missed the idea of romantic freedom, it was an adventurous risk they were willing to take), Hermione wrote until her hand cramped.

The twelve page essay portion was done in about four hours, and a revelation struck her. Who would she ask for a recommendation? She could ask Luna, but Hermione was on a timeline and Luna had instead focused on exploration of the world via extensive travel. And there was no one else she could truly trust anyone else on a deep enough level that she could ask for a recommendation. But that begged the question: was it worth it for Hermione to question this? This was essentially a government-mandated arranged marriage, and it seemed like a primitive solution to a conundrum that didn't need this level of governmental interference; it seemed illogical to assume that the most relevant answer to this question was acting on hysteria.

If Hermione was in charge, things would be significantly difficult. She'd funnel money into education so wizarding history could be preserved for further. A knowledgeable population was an influential population.

Plus, there was the question of why there wasn't better medical care. One hospital for a whole population of all wizardkind in the entire United Kingdom? How unrealistic. Her peers came out of the war traumatized, anxious, and depressed yet there wasn't any support for them. The lack of emotional support was, truthfully, monstrous.  
What was a girl to do except lay back and accept her fate? Apparently fighting would be a waste of energy; since she felt trapped, she might as well enjoy the ride.

===

A few days after landing in England and getting settled, Hermione, Ron and Harry felt the true weight of anxiety and stress of the match fall on their shoulders. They were all to be matched, coincidentally, within fifteen minutes of each other on the same day: Hermione at 10 am, Ron at 10:15, and Harry at 10:30. Although the matching process would take longer than fifteen minutes, people were sent in at staggered times so as to not overwhelm the system or the people enacting the system.

The trio stood at the base of the Ministry of Magic, an imposing marble building that stood inhumanely tall and whose weather-worn pillars were wider than most wizards. Ivy clung to the pillars, green and blooming in vivid color that Hermione found strangely comforting.

"Before we go to your matching," Harry started, both Ron and Harry sporting the same solemn looks on their faces, "Ron and I have something to say." Hermione tilted her head. She hadn't really seen them like this in a while, solemn and genuinely remorseful about something she couldn't place.

"We want to clear the air with an apology." Ron's pleading face seemed sincere, even if it felt like overkill. It added a sincerity Hermione didn't expect.

"We're sorry for the way we talked to you when we first heard about the marriage law," Harry said, and Hermione understood. Harry kept going to say, "We were too shocked to realize our words had actions."

"To be clear, we value your opinions." Ron said, "and we want to prove we'll do better by you."

"You know, by improving our behavior and such," Harry added.

"Thanks, you two. I appreciate it-" Before Hermione could finish, she hugged the boys. With Harry and Ron on her side, she could do anything.

===

"So," Hermione said with pursed lips and gritted teeth, "it comes to this. I have to be matched." She was standing in the lobby of the large and illustrious Ministry of Magic, her arms crossed in defiance and her grounded stance. She was proud of not budging.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, head of the Marriage Committee in light of the new law passing, was the man in charge of matching two people into couples. Unlike Hermione, who was proud of her defiance, remained unfazed about her. Her actions, that of petulant defiance, were expected but not encouraged. Much like a child throwing a tantrum, the best way to acknowledge people lashing out due to pressure and stress was to remain calm.

"Yes, ma'am. You are going to be matched with your future spouse in the very next room you walk in to." Kingsley kept his voice an even, unthreatening monotone. Hermione narrowed her eyes, disbelief coloring her face like a face full of makeup.

"This is how my independence ends: inside a government building," Hermione scoffed. She wrung her hands with enough intensity to make her knuckles white. The corridor in which they stood had marble floors, utilitarian brick and steel walls painted an inviting shade of robin's egg blue, and it didn't feel like a government building. She could've been fooled if it wasn't for the looming, decorative pillars and high, opaque stained glass ceilings.

"Are you okay to move forward, Miss Granger?" Kingsley asked, and for a brief moment he sounded like a concerned father. Hermione couldn't let her guard down for even a second.

"As okay as I'll ever be. Let's go before I try to run in the opposite direction and become some sort of wanted criminal or worse-on the billboard over there as a reminder of my delinquency." Kingsley nodded in acceptance of her answer, even if it was still petulant in nature and genuinely unhelpful. He led her down identical corridors, walking at a brisk pace over drab gray carpets and passing by undecorated (therefore forgettable) beige walls.

Kingsley stopped walking after nearly twenty minutes. A magnificent, enormous double door appeared in front of Hermione. It loomed with imposing grace, a shade of cobalt blue so vivid Hermione's eyes burned. Gold, silver, and bronze stars were painted onto it, and the stars painted on the door reflected the night sky as it existed outside. With closer study, stars moved and glittered.

The actual room wasn't as ornate as the double doors, but it sufficed as a work room where official business happened. Mahogany colored chairs and beige tables lined the edges of the room, and there was litter to show someone had been here recently In fact, aside from the pastel blue of the walls, and the attempt at welcoming decoration on the walls of generic motivational posters, the room wasn't much to look at.

Hermione couldn't have wanted this to end any faster than she already did. Kingsley ushered her to take a seat in one of the provided chairs at the edge of the room. Before she could even get comfortable, she was slammed with paperwork.

"First, in order to determine who you are to marry, you will have to finish this. It will help sharpen our algorithm," Kingsley explained. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"What's the point? Shouldn't you have this all figured out already?" Hermione knew this made her sound bratty but she was losing patience. Bureaucracy added a layer of unnecessary complication, and it weighed on her at this very moment.

"The point is that there are human refinements we need to confirm our decision so we do not pair you with a kneazle or a dead person" Kingsley explained, and his attempt at joking was actually strangely funny. Hermione sighed, and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Look Hermione, I'll be candid with you. I know this is difficult and not...the most wonderful solution. But it's the only workable solution we've got now that isn't a drastic governmental re-haul. Please just handle this as best as you can, okay?" Kingsley said, softening considerably. Hermione felt better.

"Thanks for that explanation. I'll do my best to get this done."

The diligent perfectionist within her kicked up and motivated her to work towards finishing the mountain of paperwork ahead. Her main goal was efficiency, but speed was a factor Hermione considered equally as important; she wanted to finish but she wanted it to be finished well. She wanted to finish so she never had to deal with this ever again for as long as she lived. If she was to get married at nineteen, she might as well do it correctly the first time around.

Thirty-five minutes and many failed attempts at small talk later, Hermione handed Kingsley her papers. He disappeared without so much as a joke to diffuse the tension. She kept her seat warm and twiddled her thumbs, as there wasn't so much as a book to keep her mind focused on something less stressful than her entire future.


	4. Chapter 4

With a quick burst of yellow light, a man appeared from behind a velvet curtain. It was a young man Hermione instantly recognized as Blaise Zabini. She hadn’t noticed him during their years at Hogwarts, because she was too busy saving the world with Harry and Ron. What she did remember was his close connection with Draco and his ilk. He was outgoing during his Hogwarts years, bursting with a childish need to prove himself. Despite being an extrovert, Blaise often kept to himself, even then. 

Now, something about him seemed different. He was more solemn, more contained, more resigned to a fate of a quiet, average life in a world that crumpled from inside out. 

His height of five feet and ten inches made him six inches taller than Hermione. He grew into his lanky limbs. Blaise had a head of perfectly maintained coily black hair. Blaise wore a button down white and black pinstripe shirt, black slacks, and black loafers. He dressed to impress, and boy was Hermione impressed. 

Despite being impressed, Hermione felt underdressed. She walked into this thinking a comfortable but worn blue cardigan and a knee-length pleated black skirt was appropriate. Her black stockings had some holes to show they were worn, and the brown loafers she wore were hand-me-downs from Molly. 

They stared at each other for a long time, eyes locking in an intense staring contest. 

“I suppose we’re husband and wife now,” Blaise said, as if this nonchalant statement of fact changed anything. 

“Almost. I have a quick statement to make your ceremony official,” Kingsley interrupted. 

“Oh, what now!” Hermione and Blaise exclaimed in unison. They cast a knowing look at each other. Maybe this synchronicity was a good sign. 

“We are here today because of a legally binding government proclamation. Blaise and Hermione, you are here today to become husband and wife. Through this ceremony you will be bound together, through sickness and in health, through good times and difficult times, through a tornado of emotions. To make a long story short….Blaise, do you take Hermione to be your lawfully wedded wife?” 

Blaise stepped closer to Hermione, grabbed both of her hands, and looked her straight in the eyes. 

“I do,” Blaise said, his husky and low. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Hermione, do you take Blaise as your lawfully wedded husband?” 

“I do,” Hermione said, her voice a mere whisper. 

“By the power vested in me, through the wizarding community of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, I pronounce you husband and wife. However you wish to react is up to you.” In a moment of emotion, Hermione stood on her tiptoes and kissed Blaise. It was a small peck, and the idea of more obvious signs of affection like that made Hermione feel queasy but it was an action that made sense. While this happened, Kingsley disappeared from sight, no doubt to work with other couples who were no doubt supposed to be married about now. 

“I know it wasn’t a particularly romantic ceremony,” Blaise said, “but we somehow made due.” 

“...What now?” A silence. 

“We can leave the Ministry, first of all,” Hermione suggested. 

“That’s a start. We can get to know each other as we try to make sense of this marriage law,” Blaise said. They walked next to each other as if they had just met for the first time. A part of Hermione knew she’d have to get used to this, but she wasn’t sure if she was capable of such a feat. At least she knew enough of Blaise to know he wasn’t a random stranger. 

“So...how have you been?” Hermione asked, breaking the ice. Blaise kept his hands at an awkward angle, unsure what to do with these limbs but to keep them limp at his sides. He was just as unsure as she was, and in a strange way, that was assuring. 

“Okay, I suppose. I had to lay low because of the war, and it’s disorienting choosing to isolate yourself. My family got too...invested in the dark side,” Blaise explained as they exited the Ministry building. 

There were too many words left unsaid. Hermione wanted to let sleeping dogs lie, but curiosity got the best of her. 

“There’s a lot to unpack there,” Hermione stated, keeping herself neutral until Blaise opened up to let her scoop more information from his brain. 

“I suppose, but it’s to be expected. I’m a strange creature, full of many delights,” Blaise said, a cat-like grin spreading across his face. He had dimples and angular features and Hermione could even call him attractive. 

“Before we continue this conversation, I vote that we go to the nearest park and marvel at the man-made construction of nature,” Hermione said. 

“That sounds wonderful,” Blaise responded. Hermione reached for Blaise’s hand in an attempt at romance. Blaise held her hand with an unexpected tenderness. 

“What’s your family like, Hermione?” 

“I’m an only child. Both my parents are dentists.” She wasn’t sure she was ready to mention the forced amnesia part yet. Not to mention their horror when they reacted as they did. One day, in the future, she would. Until then, she can pretend they are dentists who love her, who know her. 

“They work a lot but we get along well. My mother has an older brother in Essex. My uncle Noah, he’s a real sweetheart but a bit of a pushover. We see him many times a year because he’s social and invites us to all of these parties. My dad has a younger sister, my auntie Delilah. She’s an artist and flits around a lot so we don’t keep in contact. My life is fairly quiet.” Hermione explained, and a part of her felt insecure for not having anything more interesting to offer. “What about yours?”

Blaise’s face contorted strangely, and Hermione’s simple question opened up a landmine of uncertainty. 

“My mother remarried six times, and I’m the middle son from her seventh husband. I have five siblings,” Blaise started. It was a statement of fact for him, but Hermione balked nonetheless at how comfortable he was with this sprawling family tree. 

“Really? Only five?” Hermione quipped, hastily saving face; she didn’t want to seem rude for balking.Blaise let out a small chuckle. Crisis averted. 

“It’s not like it’s a secret or anything,” Blaise said, “although I’m sure I could figure out the skeletons in my parents’ closets.” Blaise let out a laugh that sounded more villainous than light. It was unnerving. 

“Are there any family secrets about you I should worry about?” Blaise asked, and Hermione balked. 

“I do,” Hermione said after too many moments of silence, “but I have to tell you later. I don’t know how to word it now.” 

“I understand. Life’s complicated enough as is,” Blaise said. 

“No need to make it more complicated, then,” Hermione replied.

“I can make this conversation lighter by talking about my siblings,” Blaise replied, an abrupt change that Hermione was grateful about. 

“Let’s start down the list from oldest to youngest. My oldest sister’s called Abigail. She’s twelve years older than me and she had her thirty-first birthday back in December. I don’t know her all that well. She’s from Mother’s first marriage, and I have an inkling that Mother liked Abigail the best since Abigail’s father was Mother’s favorite husband.” Blaise’s indifference hit Hermione like a ton of bricks. 

“How can you be so unaffected by such blatant favoritism?” Hermione gasped. Blaise shrugged. 

“I spent my entire childhood being punished by the shadow of a girl who shared some blood with me. Mother loved me, sure, but something was missing from her love for me. I think she much preferred the idea of me rather than who I actually was.” Expectations were difficult to deal with, without being in the shadow of someone else, was already fairly difficult. But he sounded monotonous, as if he’s said all of this before. 

“I don’t think it’d be fair to keep punishing myself for something out of my control. What can you do except move on,” Blaise explained. His answer sounded rehearsed, and that broke Hermione’s heart. 

“Then there’s my two brothers. There’s Jericho, five years older than me. He’s twenty-four now. He’s from husband… I think it’s three? Yeah it’s three. Jericho is cool, I suppose. Fairly adventurous and a big hiker. We bonded because we both like hiking.” Blaise almost seemed fond. The change in his mood in a matter of seconds gave Hermione whiplash. 

“Where is Jericho now?” Hermione asked. She wanted to keep the mood light. 

“I think he’s on the coast of France. He’s taken up some strange hobby that he’s too excited to talk to me about coherently.” Blaise was amused. Hermione was, too. There’s something refreshing about learning about someone for the first time. She didn’t have a lot of friends, so this was a brand new experience for her. As an only child in a relatively small family, she had little practical experience with siblings. The Weasleys were her family, sure (and she loved them dearly, more than words can explain), but their love would be different if she was a blood Weasley. 

Blaise knew his place in the world, Hermione came to realize, because of family. She knew herself, and she knew what she wanted but she didn’t know how to connect all of the dots. 

“Then there’s River. He’s twenty-two and from husband four. The true definition of introversion. Once, he spent eighteen and a half hours straight cooped up in his room to finish a book he was reading. Good heart, but not too keen on socializing and it’s hard for me to connect with him.” Hermione understood River on a deeply emotional level. She hoped to meet him one day to converse about books. 

“I have two sisters and I share a father with both of them. There’s Constance, who’s seventeen and a real firecracker. I have to reign her in a lot because she forgets that actions have consequences.” Hermione laughed here, a true belly laugh. Constance reminded Hermione of Ginny in some ways: a little reckless, a lot energetic. 

“Finally, and I’m saving the best for last, my fifteen year old sister Fern. She knows she’s the youngest and manipulates people to do what she wants. As a former Slytherin, I want to make sure she’s being cunning instead of cruel. It’s a lifelong process. I hope to be a good influence.” He squeezed Hermione’s hand here, asking for reassurance. She squeezed back. 

They stood in the park in comfortable silence, letting the breeze blow through the trees without making more noise to disturb the peace of nature. 

“Thank you for sharing so much about yourself,” Hermione said, after a long but comfortable silence. 

“It was a pleasure to share it,” Blaise responded. Without warning, he placed a soft kiss to her cheek. It lingered for long enough that Hermione turned beet red. Her whole body tingled, and for a moment, she forgot herself: she faced him, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. Blaise’s brown skin turned a delightful shade of red. 

“I’m sorry for being so bold,” Hermione whispered, wringing her hands. Blaise seemed so collected, and Hermione was baffled. 

“Don’t worry about it. We’re married, so we should get used to displays of affection,” Blaise said matter of factly and Hermione couldn’t deny it. Blaise wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her close to him, and their bodies were enmeshed in a comfortable position.

“That reminds me! Do you have any friends who got married today?” Hermione asked. In the past few hours, she had gotten used to Blaise’s calming presence. Something about being a contradiction---aloof but open, guarded but vulnerable---reminded Hermione that her new husband was a dynamic human being. Husband a weird designation for this man, but a word she’d have to get used to using. The weight of the word would lightened eventually. Until then, she’d have to be respectful, because he deserved that.

She was sure Blaise had still kept in touch with his Slytherin circle. Friendship in that house seemed to run deep, and there was a large circle of people everyone no doubt knew; everyone was inexorably connected by pure blood and Death Eater connections, no matter how distant. Loyalty ran deep in one’s house, and something about Slytherin's narrow but intense scope of fealty kept everyone closer. 

“Oh sure, I could check on them. I have some people in mind.” 

“Our next adventure awaits!” Hermione chirped.


	5. Chapter 5

“Who should I connect with first?” Blaised wondered aloud. 

“That depends. Who were your closest friends?” Hermione’s question sent Blaise into a state of thought so deep, she thought he’d never come out of it. 

“Millicent Bulstrode and Draco Malfoy,” Blaise stated; without any fanfare, he started concocting a plan, and jumped to click his feet. 

“Blaise, what in the hell are you doing?” Hermione asked, a little worried once she noticed Blaise speed-walking toward the busy parts of the city.

“I’m going to find a payphone and get in contact with them the Muggle way!” His earnest exclamation threw Hermione off guard. Pureblood wizards have surely changed in the short time. Maybe this was a good sign. 

“I’m more surprised they have landlines to call,” Hermione said. It was, after all, 1999. Anything could happen. 

“Landlines are a wonderful invention. I can’t believe we didn’t catch up to this brilliant technology sooner.” Hermione chuckled and followed behind. It only took three minutes to arrive at the nearest payphone, where Blaise fished for coins. 

“Muggle currency? I’m proud of you for learning it and using it with such aplomb,” Hermione quipped, only half-sarcastic. Blaise beamed, basking in her attention; she remained rapt as he pulled out the right amount of change to call his friends. 

“Who are you going to call first?” Hermione asked to break the ice. It came from a place of genuine curiosity. Hermione dimly wondered how drastically they changed. Many Slytherins fought in the War, even if their approach was different; there must’ve been a lot of prejudice to overcome and baggage to cope with, something that couldn’t be easy to deal with alone. 

“I”m going to call Draco. The dumbass fell off the face of the earth without telling me. I’m not sure what happened to the bloke, really. I hope he’s okay,” Blaise was babbling at this point but Hermione found it endearing in the way he talked with such great enthusiasm. He had exact change in his wallet. Dialing the number took a few seconds. Blaise must’ve called Draco a lot in the past. 

“Draco? My man! It’s been too long. How are you? I’m calling about your match---” Blaise’s unmitigated enthusiasm dropped as he was no doubt being interrupted by Draco talking.

“...Married to Ginny Weasley?” Blaise’s confusion made no sense. Ginny was a wonderful young woman. What could be wrong with her?

...Oh, right. It was Draco Malfoy. Some old habits die hard, Hermione supposed. There was a lifetime to unlearn this. Draco would have to learn: knowing Ginny, she wouldn’t handle that kind of stubbornness and would promptly teach him otherwise. Then again, Ginny was known to be fairly stubborn, so Hermione also supposed they were about equals when it came to that. 

“I’m married to Hermione Granger, and she’s pretty great.” Blaise seemed unironically proud and Hermione beamed. 

“Do you need Hermione and me to visit? We can talk to you and Ginny separately to see how to make this work. I’m not gonna let you sift through paperwork because you’re throwing a tantrum. Give me your address and we’ll be there in a few.” Blaise turned to Hermione, a jerky pivot that startled her from her reverie. 

“Where are we going?” Hermione asked even though she knew the answer. Time to calm Draco from a tantrum. 

“Draco’s manor. It’s a quick bus ride away from here,” Blaise explained, fully confident. Hermione grinned; she found his enthusiasm charming, his child-like enthusiasm so infectious that she couldn’t help feel hyped. 

“I’m sure Draco would throw a fit about how much you’ve embraced Muggle culture,” Hermione said. As petty as it sounded, she was delighted to know something brought Draco’s arrogance down a peg. 

“He has, actually. Ever since I left the Wizarding world to lay low after the War, I stayed in Muggle London,” Blaise said, and Hermione’s interest piqued. She wasn’t sure how to ask without being invasive, so she’d keep this in the backburner. 

“I hope you feel comfortable telling me more about how your life so drastically changed. It’s really fascinating to me that so much can happen in a year,” Hermione said.

“I’ll tell you when the time comes. I will say, though, it’s been a pleasant change.” His sounded content now, but Hermione noted the fluctuation of emotions was like riding a roller-coaster, and being sent on a wild ride of unpredictable behavior was something Hermione wasn’t sure she would be able to handle. She’d note that for later and learn to cope along the way. 

Blaise continued with, “Since I didn’t have a lot of connection to anyone really in wizardkind, except for Fern, and Constance, it was surprisingly easy to change. With most of my former Slytherin friends out of the picture, I had a lot of free time on my hands.” 

“I hope to meet Fern and Constance,” Hermione offered; she knew it was a meek attempt to connect, but there was something mysterious and strangely unknowable about Blaise. The cut connection to Slytherin made a grudge-holding Hermione strangely vindicated, but there was a story behind

His behavior, a little erratic and a lot intense, was something that Hermione couldn’t particularly pin down. Maybe it’s because she had only truly come to know him for a few hours, or maybe because she could work on her social skills. Either way, Blaise’s energy levels were confusing in a fascinating way. 

“You will in due time. Until then, we’re off to meet Draco. Millicent is with him, so it’s like killing two birds with one stone,” Blaise said. 

“I wonder what they’re up to, in a morbid way,” Hermione mused aloud. 

“Are you willing to come with me?” Blaise asked. 

“Sure,” Hermione replied, albeit with enough hesitance that Blaise looked concerned. 

“You aren’t obligated,” he added. There was something endearing about the hastiness. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have bothered. 

“I don’t mind,” Hermione said with more energy, “I wouldn’t know what to do with my time, anyway. I’m feeling particularly spontaneous at the moment.” 

“Let’s get going. Draco is a stickler for punctuality,” Blaise said, and they were off to meet him. They were using public transport. 

“I see Malfoy hasn’t changed much,” Hermione joked as they walked toward the bus stop. 

Blaise laughed. “I suppose not.” Silence fell between them, but neither of them seemed to mind. 

“It’s strange, isn’t it, how so much can change yet so much stays the same?” Hermione mused. She didn’t expect an answer. 

“People are fickle and our environment reflects that. It makes sense if you try to stop looking for rules,” Blaise explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I suppose,” Hermione replied. She wanted to say more, to continue this conversation. But she was, for the first time in Merlin knows when, speechless. However, the bus arrived as the schedule announced. It seemed like a rare thing for buses to be punctual. Both of them stepped on, paying the fare in silence. The silence felt awkward but there was going to be a lot of awkward silence. That was the price of the Marriage Law, Hermione realized. It wasn’t particularly romantic or emotionally organic about being paired because of a law, but Hermione had to cope. 

“I could’ve run away, you know,” Hermione blurted, and the words tumbled out of her mouth a little too easily. Blaise raised an eyebrow.

“From what? Or...who?” Blaise asked. 

“The government,” Hermione responded, and Blaise abruptly stared at Hermione, fear and confusion coloring his face. 

“You have some explaining to do, Hermione,” Blaise said, deadly serious and solemn enough to make Hermione burst into laughter. 

“Merlin’s beard, not like that!” Hermione laughed at the shock on Blaise’s face, and he lightened up too as a result of her laughter. “You see, I was initially against the Marriage Law.”

“As was a lot of people,” Blaise said, “it was controversial for being oppressive and regressive.”

“I couldn’t bear to have my autonomy taken away from me, and I thought about fleeing.” Hermione felt illogical for opening up, especially on a Muggle bus. However, they had the sense to keep their voices down and sit in the back row where people would be less likely to pay attention. 

“Why didn’t you?” Blaise asked, and Hermione was simultaneously anxious and relieved at his question.

“Because I ran to find a solution twice before. Once with Harry and Ron to defeat Voldemort,” Blaise instinctively flinched at the Dark Lord’s name, but she continued, “and once I Oblivated my parents and sent them to Australia. I did this to go on the trip so I could go help Harry and Ron without worrying about them.” Silence befell them and Hermione’s anxiety was palpable. She wondered 

“Thanks for sharing this,” Blaise said, and he took his time to say this because he seemed to struggle to find the right words. He continued with, “What you did was very brave. Extreme, and reckless, and probably a decision I can’t even fathom, but it was brave.”

“Thank you,” Hermione squeezed Blaise’s hand as the bus screeched to a halt. 

When the bus stopped, Blaise jumped up from his seat.

“We’re here! It’s our stop,” Blaise chirped. Hermione came to the realization, as they exited the bus, that she had no idea where she was, nor where Malfoy Manor was located. 

“Do you know where you’re going, Blaise?” Hermione asked, her attempt at keeping her composure pretty flimsy. Blaise seemed too calm to be leading the way, his jaunty steps a little too relaxed to be reconnecting with estranged friends. 

“I know what I’m doing. Trust me,” was all that came out of Blaise’s mouth, and Hermione’s heart raced. Walking for half a mile and fifteen minutes later, the surrounding foliage became thicker, more lush with green leaves. As the busy city streets of London transformed into the rolling hills of hidden forests of a city Hermione wasn’t familiar with, what must have been Malfoy Manor came into view. 

Approaching Malfoy Manor as an outsider felt like entering an alternate universe where stark, gilded minimalism reigned supreme. It was a sprawling estate, and Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if the house sat on more than three acres of meticulously tended lawn. How a small family such as the Malfoys chose such a huge estate to maintain with such precision astounded Hermione to speechlessness. The Victorian architecture of this manor was austere in its looming height, looking down at Hermione with many stained-glass windows. These windows were the only splash of color in an otherwise , creating a delightful contradiction. The manor stood proud and elegant and slightly strange in its design; this piqued Hermione’s interest. Architecture and its history fascinated her. One day, she would study it in depth.

For now, she would marvel that this manor was a gorgeous, somewhat frightening sight to behold. 

“I can’t believe this is Malfoy Manor!” Hermione exclaimed as she walked alongside Blaise to the winding road from the gated entrance to the front door. There were short, floating stairs leading up to the entrance of the manor, and Hermione nearly tripped over them. Luckily, Blaise caught her in time so she didn’t tumble into the dirt at the bottom of the entrance. 

“Isn’t it an architectural delight?” Blaise cooed, vibrating in child-like excitement at seeing his friends. He pushed the button to ring the doorbell. Instead of a typical bell sound, like Hermione expected, the doorbell’s ring was a simplified flute cover of Fur Elise. 

Hermione felt a spike of adrenaline rush through her, and she couldn’t explain her newfound fascination with Malfoy and his manor. No doubt it was from the inability to predict what was going to happen. No matter what happened, Hermione relished what was to come.


End file.
